21 Echoes
by The Lone Marine Hicks
Summary: These are the Echoes of the War that erupted in the Koprulu Sector; the echoes of which we could learn more of our own souls. These are the Echoes that would reach out into space to be heard.
1. Prologue: The 21st Echo

**Note: This is meant to be an Epistolary Novel; and is told through multiple perspectives; be they news reports, letters, journals, logs, or audio transmissions, and the like. The Chapters here are called 'Echoes' and the SubChapters are called 'Logues'**

**Prologue: The 21****st**** Echo.**

Cpl. Hick's Journal—Char, 2504.

'Fate.' When you're looking through your memories, asking yourself how you got there, the only reason you're still sane is the simplest and most comfortable answer—fate. Fate is the place we end up in; it's the quintessential consequence of our actions. In some of the old books that we've uncovered from our past—Earth—it was called '_Ka_'. This _Ka_ is a shapeshifter; I've noticed come in many forms; from places to people to things to our very own Banes. Ka is the sword that stabs us; the gun that shoots us, but it is also the laser-scalpel and the surgical sutures that heal us. In cases where our fates are places, let's just say that fate put Amy in the planet Haven. And yet I seem to feel that fate hates me—fate gave me a crash-course ticket to a Hellworld named Char. And when I say 'Hell' I mean it.

Imagine a whole world that's been burnt by a gigantic aerosol can and a liter; it was a collection of black soil, seas of lava, pools of lava, and tons of the good stuff—lava. Volcanoes were a typical sight in this landscape, and furthermore, every step of the way meant death. One wrong step and you'd be swimming in the good stuff. Ah, the good stuff.

But that was just the limbo circle of the inferno.

The 'Demons' in this hellworld were inhuman, spiny creatures that lived on the surface, and their 'hive mind' was particularly the reason why we were here. The Queen Bitch of the universe; the Queen of Blades. They were cal led the Zerg, and were the very reason why we still sleep with our lights on at night.

Tell me...to you who's readin' this. Do you think you're a hardass? A badass? An all-around tough guy? Well, if you are, you're glad to join us, Raynor's Raiders, on a one-hit suicidal expedition to Char! And then we'll throw you in CMC-400 Armor and pat you in the back as you and your Tough Guyness confront a whole swarm of these things.

Not so tough, huh?

We came from the Raider flagship, _Hyperion_, on a Quantradyne APOD-33 dropship, one of the oldies. This baby was present at Mar Sara, when the Zerg attacked, and it helped out on that Desperate Alliance. Inside, strapped on to the hull were us; the soldiers—me, in this infernal machination; a CMC-400 suit; our resident Ghost; Alexandra, and of course, our star, Nicholas 'Blackjack' Parkus. There were nine more inside the dropship; all were in a bulky marine suit. Held in side-holsters that were welded to the hull of the ship were their weapons; the standard issue C-14 'Impaler' Gauss Rifles; first and second variants, and for our Ghost Operative, a C-20a Sniper Rifle. Judging from both Raider and Dominion communications, Raynor's saved handfuls of marines from the Zerg. I just hoped we land unscathed.

Two of the Marines strapped to their seats were oddly quiet—these were Aggs and Fider, two usually talkative fellas.

Until now.

"You Gents alright?" I asked.

"Oh. Yeah. Alright." Said Aggs.

"Yeah." Said Fider.

I looked at Nick, his forehead blocked by the head piece he wore; their green LED-esque lights glowing in the macabre dimness of the dropship. In the dim light, he was still a handsome fellow, blue, gunshooter eyes, a stubbled chin, very, very dark blonde hair; dark enough to be light auburn. It was long enough to have to put a primitive rawhide loop to tie it to a ponytail—one of his obsessions. He had a lighter, slender, and _very much _less bulkier suit; a Hybrid of a Ghost's and a Spectre's suit. A thin line passed through the outline of the suit, and it was glowing with a blue light, the same blue of his eyes. On his right shoulder was a number: **21. **

And, on his chest-armor was another plaque commemorating Mar Sara—a deputy marshal's badge. Suffice to say, I had one of those babies before, yet I lost it.

I lost a lot of things along the way. My wife, my friends back at Mar Sara.

"I see the beacon!" said the pilot, over the communicators. "Strap yourselves in, boys." There was a thud as we landed. The ramp opened, and a black hiss of smoke came, from the outside. The ramp thudded with the volcanic earth, producing a clanking sound.

"Death." I heard a voice say. "But not for you."


	2. 1st Echo: Loomings, Logue 1: Patrol

**1****st**** Echo**

Loomings.

**Logue One. **

**Patrol.**

_Marshall Callahan's Log, November 21, 2499. _

Happy December. Mar Sara seems not to care, though, it's still hot as hell…and there's nothing else to do but drink beer every day. But I've got a work to do; I have to run a community. I'm a Marshall, of course. It's the closest we've got to sheriffs here in Mar Sara, hell, it's the closest we've ever gotten to strapping on a six-gun and riding on a horse. 'Course, figuratively speakin'. We've got no horses here, only vulture bikes. Or hovering speed death traps, as I like to call 'em. If you see me now, I'm laughin, though…there's nothin' much to laugh. Honestly speaking, between you n I, I'm just stallin time. It's just 5 in the afternoon, the sunset's running it's course and I have nuthin to do! Ah well, might as well snooze.

_[Later]_ Crap. So much of it. Stevens came back from his patrol and…gaah, there goes my lunch. I evacuated my stomach back there in the desert. I'm becoming so jumpy. A man died, and it's not so nice.

Stevens, with his work boots and braces, and that neocotton shirt he wore, and that neosteel mechanical gauntlet-boot combination; he came back with a bloody rip in his side. "Not that bad, boss, but it hurts like a bitch." He said. Meds had him patched up.

I'll write everything down now, I guess, for future reference and reading. The world has to know. The _universe _has to know.

Okay. Collecting myself.

Earlier in the afternoon, 'bout two hands after twelve, Stevens went out to his duty, patrolling the border colonies. He said he got a drink from Joeyray's Bar, and he thought it was a hallucination; what happened.

After passing a few words to Joeyray, he went off, riding his bike, and his Remington BlueSteel shotgun.

Now, there was a pass in the wastelands that divided the _real _wastelands with the outpost-outskirts. Stevens reached this, and found strange purplish rot on it; purple, leathery flesh. It seemed alive; a strange wall of purplish flesh hung over it. Stevens dismounted from his vehicle and approached the post, stepping on the blight. Without any other word for it, he coined the term creep.

That was when the man came.

He limped from the hazy, dust storm that was happening in the wastelands, and from Steven's view, he was seriously hurt—a hand hung limply to his side, and the flesh around that area was ripped. Spikes riddled his front torso and his legs; not to mention a large spike protruding from his neck. A large diagonal slash bled on his torso, and a strange scythe-like bone protruded from his arm. It wasn't human.

"Help." It seemed like the only word the man could say. His cotton shirt ripped to pieces, blood streaked all over him, the wounds seemed infected.  
Yet Stevens stood there, in the dust, watching a large shadow approach the wounded man.

"You've got to h-h-help."

The man was ripped apart.

The monster reared its crested neck forward and looked at Stevens. It was at least eight feet tall, with an insect-like, serpentine body. Its red eyes looked at Stevens with contempt. It had mandibles on his snout, and these opened, revealing a devilish grin from a hideous mouth.

"It was kinda like a snake and a fuckin' prayin' mantis's love child." Stevens told me.

Stevens fell to the ground in fear and awe at the beast, his shotgun in the holster of his back. The thing reared its scythe-like arms in the air and lunged forward, the flaps of skin on its crested heads rearing to reveal the monstrosity's spikes. Instinctively, Stevens took out his shot gun and shot the monster in the face, taking half its head off.

Still, the creature attacked, stabbing him in the leg and slicing at his arm and side, only to be marred by the repeated shots from Stevens' shotgun. It lay dead, with conical holes drawn on his face.

Stevens limped to his vulture, took a final look back at the wastelands and saw more of those shadows. He started up the bike and ran off.

We gotta report this to the higher Authorities!


	3. Logue 2: Shadows in the Dust Storm

**Logue Two. **

**Shadows in the Dust Storm**

_Amy Launter's journal. November 21 2499 _

"Baby, you just gotta come with me!"  
Baby? _Baby? _I was no baby. The pathetic, squealing, cowardly creature I called 'Boy Friend' pleaded with me just this morning. Of course, out of pity for the poor guy's health, I came. Laurana tagged along, because she was bored and lonely. Yeah, that's my best friend, who was golden and bright, unlike me. Of course, I was not without any beauty. Boys still swooned for me, but they swooned more for her, and in this Backwater planet, the rednecks couldn't take their eyes of us. (I sighed).

I wish I was a boy. A marine, too. I'd join the Confederates and their Marine Corps. But no, I'm supposed to be prim and proper, while the boys do the 'heavy lifting' for me. Bah. Men could be so condescending, don't you think? You feel me?

So I'm a Tomboy. So what? I could kick your ass or coerce you to sleep with me any day. That's how I roll, baby. _Baby. _The next time I meet another guy, I would ask him to respect my name and even use it, because being called a 'baby' is…condescending, and deserving a butt-whooping; if you get my drift.

So the leech I call my boyfriend was none other than Tyrion James Jones Johns, the son of a rich Merchant who travels throughout the sector selling, trading, dealing junk. His dad's name was Gaunt, and to us, he was a good guy. But his son was…

P. It was a p-word.

Pathetic. Yeah. That was it.

So Tyrion James Jones Johns, Laurana Capulet, and me; Amelia Genarro-Launter (my folks were separated; deal with it), we all hopped into Tyrion's surplus surveyor truck. A few months ago, Tyrion, with his Pretty Boy act, would have impressed me a bit by showing me this baby, but not anymore. It was a childish boy-toy.

The sandstorm in the wastelands came after we set off, and that was why we saw the smoke coming from the distance. Hell, I couldn't see it well—it was at least ten miles off the horizon; the only way I could have seen it was through the Hi-Power binoculars Tyrion had. It was just a small spot, even with the 70x zoom capacity.

"Tyrion, we're going to drive all the way _there_, just to view some smoky stuff the Colonial Militia's supposed to handle?" I asked shrilly.

"Scared?" Laurana retorted.  
I shook my head. "Not one bit."

A vulture checked us out at the border that separated the wastelands and the outskirts of Mar Sara City. I saw the guy around—a charming smile, scarred face, brown eyes, brown hair. He had a large knife scar running through his neck, and it scared me to think about what happened to him. Still, the man had a strange, goofy flair in him. He stopped us dead in our tracks.

He dismounted from the hoverbike and walked to the driver's side, leaning over with his arms on the openings. He checked Tyrion the wuss out, and then smiled at me. _Me. _

"You do know that there's a strict rule here in Mar Sara involving sandstorms, don'cha?" He said sternly to Tyrion. Tyrion showed aggression and tried to intimidate.

"Don't mess with us, cowboy." He said. "Git. The ladies an' I have some R n R to do in the desert."

"I don't think so." The guy said. "And don't go calling me a cowboy, bozo. I'm as educated as you, hell, _better_. Now you better get this truck and steer it around. Deputy's orders."

Tyrion clenched his fists. "Bozo, huh?" He took a quick jab at the deputy, who swiftly lunged backward, grinning.

"That's already counted as assault on a Marshall, and you're losing my patience." Said the Deputy. "Please, step out of the car, bozo." The Deputy saw me and nodded business-ish.

"You, sir, are gonna have to come with me." He said.

Back in the cab of the surveyor, Laurana was fumbling for the door, attempting to stop the fight. I held her hand and shook her head. She must have read the look upon my eyes; she relaxed.

"We've gotta do _something._" Laurana said.

"Let God sort 'em out." I said. "I'm more worried for the Wuss than the Deputy. _He _looks like he could tie down the Wuss with one swipe of his hand."

"Yeah, that's Steve." Laurana said.

"You know the guy?" I asked.

"Yep. Good friend, High School, Veranus Colony." She smiled. "Good times…_good _times."

"Scholarship, huh?" she asked.

"You said it. Guy's a spike on the outside, spikier on the inside, but was all soft if you dig in deeper." She said.

"—The son of a Rich Man?" Tyrion bursted.

"Do you think I give a _damn_?" Hicks said, clipping the neosteel handcuffs. I was flustered that the Deputy was trying to impress us by doing his job and not showing off—a _reverse _of what men usually do.

"Oh, I'll see you deported, you Bastard." Tyrion said. "To some _other _backwater planet, on some dumb system. You'll see—_oof!" _Hicks had slammed him to the side of the surveyor. His cheek collided with the paristeel and produced clanks that echoed through the truck.

"There's no other Backwater System on this sector." Hicks calmly said. "And sometimes you have to be grateful that you're on a planet like _this_, instead of a Dump like Deadman's Valley."

I heard chatter from the fone Hicks had strapped to his gun belt. Peering out of the driver's window, I saw Tyrion facing the surveyor's metal hull, arms behind his back.

"Callin' deputy Hicks, do yah read? Need you back at HQ, over." Said DisPatch. Hicks replied through a bone-mic.

"Yep. Say, I got a Wealthy miner-son here that's been officially charged of Police Assault, DisPatch. Requesting retrieval craft, over."

"Roger, Deputy, take the suspect back with you. Haul Ass. A storm's coming up…and somethin' worse. Code Red."

"Oh." Said the Deputy.

"Stop your grinnin' and drop your linen! Get over here!"

He took a cautious look at me, and gave me a wan, sympathetic smile. "Ma'am, you probably gotta come with me." He said. Another head peered out of the large window—blondie, Laurana.

"_Laurana?" _Hicks stood, surprised. "Laurana Capulet? Wow!"

Laurana blushed, and I felt slightly flustered. "Long time no see."

"Gee, you look prettier without the acne and all. I remembered you had all those pimples back in high school…"

"Don't remind me." Said Laurana. "But thanks."

"And might I know your name?" he asked me. I blushed more. This man had his ways. And I thought he was just some uneducated Hick, like his namesake.

"Amy." I said. "Launter."

"Steven Hicks, ma'am." He spoke in such an educated accent, I was surprised he wasn't a rich merchant or an industrious miner, but a _marshall_, especially of this Backwater planet!

"Charmed." I mustered to say. "So what are you going to do with my boyfriend there?"

"Jail. Sorry, Confederate Law." He said, a tad bit regretfully, but with pride and smugness to balance. He looked at Tyrion, just standing there, leaning on the surveyor's side, hatefully looking into the distance. He seemed to be observing something.

"He's an ass, anyway." Whispered Laurana. True, he was. But he had a keen eye, sometimes. And that was why he saw them, just from that distance.

_Them_.

The sandstorm grew worse; visibility became so low I could not see a damn thing after ten meters. But I heard, even with the sub-sonic winds blowing through the badlands. Inhuman squeals came from the wastelands; more from Mar Sara City. A rambling sound echoed in the wind, like an Earthquake, and I began to feel the ground shake before me.

"What the hell is _that_?" asked Laurana, now back at the passenger's side.  
"Earthquake." Said Steve. "Come on let's go home before—"

Screams.

"_HEY! HEEEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE THINGS?_"

It was Tyrion.

I stepped out of the cab, shielding my eyes from the dust storm. A large silhouette was coming for us; trailing it were smaller infantile shadows. The large thing was serpentine in form—kind of like a King Cobra in prancing position.

Hicks looked at me and said calmly, "Get in the cab, Amy."

"But—"

"Just do it." He said. I followed, slamming the door shut. My heart was now beating rapidly, as the ramblings continued. Tyrion was shouting. I saw him run towards the driver's door. Hicks was nowhere to be found; neither was his bike.

Hesitating, I let the coward in, Placing his ass back at the passenger's seat behind us.

"Where's Hicks?" I asked.

"Drove off to the night in his fucking Vulture bike; that coward!" Tyrion exclaimed. I was disheartened. There were things coming out of the storm and our Knight was accused of going AWOL.

I grabbed the radio mike from the dashboard.

"MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is Terran Surveyor B-14-7, requesting immediate help! We are stranded in this dust storm, surrounded by..."

I looked into the window. They were just decameters from the surveyor. They were hideous, insectile monstrosities; some had mandibles covering their real mouths; and protruding from these were sharp tusks. Others had 'faces' mostly covered by the tusks that grew on their jaws, and every mouth had sharp teeth. The large shadow I saw earlier looked like the offspring of a Praying Mantis and a Snake. Or one of the heads of a Hydra; that monster from the Old earth.

Hydra. That was a good name.

"By things…we need evac." I said.

The first things tore through the back of the Surveyor truck; dog-like monstrosities with glowing red eyes, and Tyrion wailed. Laurana and I didn't, but we pushed ourselves back towards the dashboard.

Then I heard it. The blasts from Heaven.

Guns…it was a blast from a pair of machine guns. It tore through the monsters with surprising speed, ripping their chitin carapaces. The Hydra-thing I saw earlier was also ripped to pieces by a grenade launcher from heaven.

"Sorry for the scare. I had to circle the area and blast these things." Hicks said from the radio.

"Open the trunk for me, ladies." He said.

I popped the trunk door open. It was 5 meters tall and six meters wide—surveyors were also sample-collectors, miniscule dump trucks, mineral collectors and the like. The silhouette of a hoverbike approached it, blasting an incoming monster with its grenade launcher. It then did a fascinating trick; it faced the monsters again and put it in reverse, hovering backwards towards the truck and firing explosive rounds.

He smoked. That was the only thing I hated about him. The smoking. Everything else was pure and utter bliss.

He smoked a Dromedary Cig, as the dilapidated trunk doors sealed in.

"Smoking kills, y'know." Said Laurana.

"It makes me relax." Hicks said. "Sorry. Anyway, I'll put it out for you, ladies."

"Your loss." I said. And shrugged. "Thank you."

"I had to protect you guys, didn't I?" he said. "You're welcome. But those things are coming after us. Drive. Just drive, man."

And I did.


	4. Logue Three: Gunfire from Thought Men

**Logue Three.**

**Gunfire from the Thought-Man. **

_**Amy Launter's Journal, 21 November 2499. **_

**[Later that evening] **

Hi. It's safe now, but I'll break down everything that's happened since I last wrote.

"Those things almost tore out the transaxle. Jeez..." said Laurana. Behind us, Hicks was a pinch close to taping Tyrion's blabbering mouth. The coward was in pure and utter madness, and Hicks wasn't looking to good on maintaining Tyrion's silence.

"Where now?" I asked him.

"There's an Evac landing zone in the wastelands for emergencies." Said Hicks. "Let's drive on there and contact HQ to get the whole militia to get us."

"But we're FUCKED UP, man! We ain't going to no evac in time! Might as well accept your fate! Game Over, man! _Game Over!_"

"_SHUT IT!_" Laurana burst out, leaning over her seat and slapping him; all in record time. "You should be grateful and relieved that we're still _here_so shut the _fuck_ up, you twat!"

Shocked by the outburst, Tyrion looked at his fellow man for some support. Arms crossed, Hicks just shrugged. "Better follow the orders, man."

We must have covered nine miles, at the least; the blaze was coming closer. It was smaller, but we could deduce that it was indeed a crash site, and the fire was coming from a conflagration of a landing cylinder. The life boat was a small final-contingency escape pod, with solar-sails to drive on for days, and a small communications hub within the capsule itself. Some of the dudes I hung out with said the capsules had holsters fit for an armament of rifles (to which I was awed with). Burning debris were scattered around the area.

"Whoa. That must be Confed." said Hicks. "Wonder what ship crashed and where."

We were definitely closer that I could see the giant white numbers on the side of the capsule: **21. **A very strange number. In good ol' Earth, Three sevens meant holiness, good luck, and fate. There were seven letters in 'Eternal'. Though, these thoughts never came to me until we're here, riding in a Stinger Jeep.

There were tubes running around it, glowing a neon blue.

"Maybe there's someone who needs our help." I said.

"Darn Right; they're Confed; if we bring them back to town, the Higher Authorities could award us with a higher paycheck." Hicks joked. "Drive faster, though, Amy. I got a hunch that the attacks aren't over."

I did. And tell you what? It was the most exhilarating thing I've ever done in my entire nineteen year-old life.

When _he _came along; that glowing blue figure of death—the very _angel _of death, whom was sent forth to kill every firstborn son of Earth's Egypt—it was neither with a blaze of holy light from a Heaven that nobody seemed to believe in anymore; nor did he come, birthed from a virgin. But he was a savior all the same.

What we encountered was nothing from the beast that was lying in wait for us.

"Did you feel that?" asked Laurana. The darkness of the night creeped us out, as only the searchlights attached to the car gave some light in this void of darkness.

The only intelligible answer I could say was "What?" I tried to disconnect my other senses to feel what she was feeling and got nothing. No sort of rumble—nothing wrong with this system.

"I could feel it, too." Steve said. "Stay frosty." He said, jumping over his seat to his Vulture at the back. "I might have a look-see."

I reacted to this by putting on the brakes; fear gripped me hard, and I looked back at Hicks more afraid than ever. His calculating brown eyes started at me and understood my fear. He touched his shoulder-holster, in turn, releasing the P-45 Gauss Pistol he held there.

"Ever shot one of these before?" he asked.

"Yeah." I said. "I dressed up as a guy once and went to GunShooter's free Training Grounds."

"Yer joking, right?" he said.

I shook my head. "I'm too jumpy to joke around."

"Open the Hatch, Amy." He said. I nodded and turned my head back to the dashboard. For that split second that I'd turned my head towards Laurana, I saw fear on her face, and the pale white of her skin.

I realized that the thing staring at us at the dashboard was the reason for all her fright.

It was one of those snake-like monsters, but larger and consequently stronger. Its blood red eyes glowed in the dark. It had risen up from the ground just a few meters ahead of us, and if we were seeing right, this creature was fifteen feet in height. And it was closing in, moving its scythe-like appendages and practically tearing out the air.

"_OPEN THE HATCH!_" Tyrion screamed.

I slammed the button open and the Vulture scrambled out. Tyrion was screaming again and again, and I myself was trembling in fear. It was coming closer, and I aimed at it, bracing myself for the recoil.

The thing squealed an ear-piercing shriek and it hurt our ears, but the explosion deafened it. A grenade round from the Vulture bike.

"SHEE-IT!" Tyrion screamed. Laurana was pale and leaned her back on her seat.  
Half of the monster was vaporized by the blast, and blood spattered around. The 'intact' half bled out in a matter of seconds, and the thing still made an advance towards us.

I saw Hicks in his Bike; saw his eyes through his goggles, winking. He gave me a thumbs-up and I sighed and waved him. I gave him _my _thumb and smiled.

He dismounted from his bike and took a few flares from the toolcase welded to her Vulture. He then popped two of them and set them on flat ground.

Inside the Surveyor, we all sighed. Even Tyrion was calm.

"I wonder if it's safe now." Laurana said.

Hicks went to our window and made a cranking movement with his hand. I followed, pushing the OPEN button.

"That was too close for comfort." I said. "Wish I coulda done that."

"You're impossibly tough." He said. "Haven't met a tougher girl in my life."

"That so?" I asked, flabbergasted. My reflexes were tweaked up a notch to hone in on his quick remarks.

"Yeah." He flashed a smile. And withdrew.

"Anyway, contact HQ again, tell 'em to hone in on our signal."

"How long do you think we could stay here?"

"I've met a lot of good men in the Saran colonial Militia, ma'am. The difference between us and the confederates is that we care So…about a day or so. As I said, a lot of good men." He started to walk back to his vulture bike.

"You're one of them." I said. "Thank you again, Marshal Hicks."

He looked back with a smile. "Don't thank me just yet, and besides, I'm not yet a marshall I'm a—"

He was violently cut off when his hoverbike was hailed with tons of spikes, igniting the thrusters. The whole thing exploded. He took out his other sidearm and aimed at the thing that dared to attack.

"That was the bike I used in the _Guild Wars_, you fuck." He said to the dark foe, whatever It was. The searchlights couldn't see it. It was too far out. "I love that speed trap. And you _destroyed it." _

_STAND BACK! _Boomed an echo through our heads. It was a strange mind-bomb, or an uber-powerful thought command.

Sudden gunfire erupted from the distance, and a scream followed, and added to the mix were three explosions.

Hicks just stood by, wondering what the spectacle was about. I bet his head was pounding. Mine was.

_GET INSIDE! GET INSIDE! _Said the Alien voice inside my head. I leaned out the window and screamed at Hicks.

More gunfire. Hicks stared for a moment and collected himself, running towards the cab of the surveyor.

That was when all the monsters in Hell rose up from their slumber.


	5. Logue IV: The Blue Glow in the Darkness

**Logue Four.**

**A Blue Glow in the Darkness.**

_Amy Launter's Journal, Continued._

The next few hours were…incredible.

The horrors rose up from the ground—dog-like, insectoid creatures and their companions the snake-like Hydras—and fell upon us like we were a beacon.

They were deadly _fast_, covering the distance with swift feet, and it left the people inside the cabin with a few seconds to breathe. Tyrion was screaming his lungs out, Laurana was trying to shut him up (and failing), and Hicks was firing blindly at the monsters with his Slugthrower.

"_Drive!_" he shouted, tearing the air with the sound of gunfire.

I put the pedal to the metal, and the inertia pulled us with our backs to our seats.

"GET US OUT OF HERE!" Laurana was talking through the mouthpiece of the communications module. "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! THIS IS TERRAN SURVEYOR D-2121, NEEDING IMMEDIATE EVAC!"

"Amy, switch seats with Laurana." Steve calmly said, firing at the charging monsters.

I pulled the brakes and did what I was told.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Now switch seats with Tyrion." He said, "I'll cover you."

"You crazy?" Tyrion asked. "I'm not going out _there!_"

"Either you're going out there or _they're _going to come here." He said.

The pretty boy and I did it swiftly, but he fumbled with the door knob and met one of the aliens. I personally shot the thing in the face.

Soon, they were just feet from us. Laurana drove like hell, too.

"Amy, one last thing," Hicks said.

"What?"

"You're a good shooter, right?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Pick off as many of the Xenos as you can." He said, and went back to shooting at the charging aliens.

I mock-saluted the guy and gave him my best smile. "Yes sir."

I opened the window and saw the monsters barreling down on us; not tens, not hundreds, but _thousands_ of the bastards. I thought that the whole colony could've been overrun in a matter of seconds.

"SHIT!" I exclaimed. "They're so _numerous!_"

"Just pick off the ones that get too close!" said Hicks.

I leaned out with my pistol and shot out at the beasts. The recoil of the Gauss Pistol was so shitty it almost flew in my hand. I reminded myself _not _to do it one-handed, unlike the training guns at that Shooting Emporium before.

Still, I loved that deathly smell that followed. Sooner than later, I killed twenty of those things. But it was nothing more than chipping of bits and pieces from a stone. I considered the fact that we might not survive this.

But what convinced me that we weren't going to live another day came next in line.

It was massive; bigger than what we saw before. A huge tentacle came from the dark earth; a slimy, lovecraftian monstrosity that was so twisted in form I gave out a yelp, Steve turned pale, Laurana sighed and keeled over, and Tyrion screamed like a bastard.

It slammed its girth down to the earth and sent a shockwave towards us, capsizing our vehicle 360 degrees.

In seconds, the hounds of hell had swarmed all around us, tearing at the thick neosteel plating as if it was wet tissue paper. At that moment, adrenaline rushed through our veins, trying to fend off the seemingly endless swarm of monsters. The only relief seemed to come from the comfort of death looming around the corner. The dog-like aliens came through every ripped opening; the neo steel ripped to ribbons, like paper. Laurana gave in to fear and screamed her lungs out, kicking at an alien and holding it back so I could shoot.

"_WE HAVE TO GET OUT!_" screamed Laurana.

Then a loud explosion came; so loud that the aliens seemed to pause and look around, wondering where it came from. We took the time to shoot the closest aliens, but the hope of rescue was waning. Their red eyes seemed to spell out our demise. I couldn't help but scream, and Tyrion joined our chorus.

But the blasts were consistent, and getting closer every second. Gunfire erupted—the squeals of a thousand monsters dying were vibrating in the air. I felt a wave of relief and adrenaline rush though me. Miraculously, the interior of the surveyor was slightly intact. The hood lights, too. I pressed the ON button thrice, signaling our unseen rescuers.

Smoke from the distance.

A blue glow came from the darkness, and the black silhouette started walking closer. A trail of light came from the weapon it held—this was also blue.

Trailing our savior was a squad—no; a _battalion _of soldiers, possibly around 20 of them. They wore bulky armored machinations, wielding the slender versions of C-14's. Their armor whirred and whizzed as the powerful motors inside reacted with their users movements. I longed to use one of those.

They walked slowly, observing the landscape; possibly wary of any of the creatures coming their way. Only the black silhouette walked with apathy. He seemed to be preoccupied with getting to us, and yet he walked calmly, his seemingly heavy weapon in one hand and a sniper rifle on the other.

That blue glow was on his head. What was it?

Laurana gasped as the Savior stepped into the surveyor's range. He was not armored like the others; a slender Hostile Environment Suit was the only thing he wore. The blue glow we saw earlier was the glow of his goggles.

It was a Terran Ghost. A _Confederate _terran Ghost. In the flesh.

I couldn't believe that a ruthless killer like this would come and swoop us out of harm's way. There was supposed to be no way in heaven.

"Secure the area!" said one of the Armored Personnel—the Marines. "Are they still alive, Nick?"

"_HELL YEAH!_" Steve screamed.

"Affirmative." The Ghost said, cool. His long dark blonde hair flew in the night's breeze. "Mar Saran locals." He said, as he approached the damaged surveyor.

The Ghost opened Laurana's door first, leading her down the steps to the dirt of the badlands, holding her hand throughout. She sighed, panted, hand still holding. By that time, he removed his goggles and his blue eyes were as cold as stars. He smiled.

"Th-th-tha-thank—"

The Ghost put a gauntleted finger to her lips. "Shh."

She stood there, looking at him, and I envied them so much…I've never seen someone hold such horror inside and release all the pain later. She was hugging the Ghost, who didn't seem to mind. Laurana shared a single moment like that, and it was to last forever.

"My God…you were guiding me all _along_…" she said. "You were, weren't you?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about." He spoke English without that sloppy redneck accent that goes around here in Mar Sara. And grinned.

He escorted us out, hauling the coward, Tyrion, who was paralyzed with fear, out of the ruined vehicle. He looked at Laurana and Steve, who were beat up.

"Come on, you need some medical attention. Those bruises an' all." He said, and regrettably looked back at his squad of marines. A hovering vehicle was scouting the area; twin railguns scouring anything that wasn't human. I noticed the marines huddled around a makeshift deathbed.

"You guys don't happen to be a medic, do you?" the Ghost asked, and comically wiped a tear from his eyes. "Shit. We lost a good one."

Laurana, collecting herself, raised one shaking hand. "Yeah. You got one."

She tried to steady it, and through the stream of drying tears, she saluted.

"Laurana Capulet, Field Medical Expert, reporting for duty, sir."


End file.
